Unintended Consequences
by rainsrabble
Summary: Hermione has responsible no strings sex after ending her relationship with Ronald. In a terrible twist she learns that her birth control had been compromised and there were unintended consequences.
1. This Isn't Happening

The disgusting taste of stale alcohol on his tongue as well as his eyelids feeling like they were welded to his face was a lovely combination to wake up to. Ron rolled off the couch with a curse and stumbled to the loo, fervently chanting the mantra 'never again, never again.' A shower and four cups of coffee later he still felt like death warmed over but couldn't force himself to go back to bed. Hermione wasn't home yet, and he desperately needed to talk to her. So here he sat, staring at the door. The door stared back unhelpfully.

She'd stayed out all night.

He clung to hope she'd stayed the night at Ginny's and that when she walked through that door they would kiss and make up and he would try harder to be the man she needed him to be and he would make himself worthy of her and all would be well.

It was well into daylight before Hermione came in quietly. She noted his presence at the table, silently put down her purse, and poured herself a cup of coffee before joining him. "I've already looked at some flats. I can be out by this afternoon."

He wanted to protest, he wanted to beg her to stay with him, he wanted to say anything at all…but words wouldn't come. He sat there, mute and wounded, while his chance to fight for his girl slipped through his fingers. She rose to her feet, dropped a kiss on the side of his mouth and made her way to the bathroom for a shower.

Ron sat there for a few minutes, trying to formulate a game plan, trying to figure out what to say. His eyes strayed to her purse and he recalled a foggy memory from the night before.

He'd had too much to drink. Hermione had said she wanted to break up and Harry had comforted him with liberal amounts of fire whisky and comradery. He remembered stumbling home and doing something to the condoms Hermione kept in her purse. His whole thought process was a little scattered but for some reason he had decided that those condoms were the only barrier between breaking up and a dream future of Hermione having his kids. She insisted on using Muggle condoms, because why expose herself to harsh potions and spells when there was a safe non-toxic Muggle alternative? He remembered being irrationally furious about the condoms and spelling them ineffective before he had woken her up for sex.

The whole night had gone south from there, but he was sure he had done something to the condoms.

Panicking he leapt from his seat and rushed to the counter to rummage through her purse and get rid of the evidence. With growing horror he dumped the contents on the counter, unable to find the little square silver packages. Where the fuck were they?

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Hermione stood in the kitchen doorway, her hands on her hips, her hair wet from the shower.

"Please tell me you didn't use the condoms in your purse," Ron begged, knowing immediately from the look on her face that she had in fact used them.

"Who?" he croaked out, pushing his pain to the side, needing to know.

"Draco Malfoy."


	2. Harsh light of Day

Hermione listened with growing horror to Ronalds confession as he tried to explain what he had done. She didn't even feel a hint of remorse or pity at the furious gobsmacked look on Ronald Weasley's face as he started in on her choice of bed partners. For a handful of heartbeats she was thrilled that she had slept with Draco Malfoy because she could think of no other person on the entire planet that would upset Ron to this degree.

Unfortunately those few moments of spiteful satisfaction were quickly outpaced by her building panic. Out. She needed to get away from Ron. He was saying something to her and she didn't care. She didn't want to hear his anger or his scorn or his apologies or whatever was going to spew out of that mouth next. She'd heard quite enough from Ronald Weasley this morning, thank you very much. She grabbed her violated purse and the spilled contents using a hasty accio and sprinted for the door. Ronald had the nerve to try to block her path but she was in no mood to be trifled with, especially by the cause of her panic, and she flung him aside with a wave of her wand and darted to freedom. It took her only a few seconds to place a location in her mind and Apparate to her mother's.

She didn't bother to check if her parents were home, going straight to her old room, locking the door, and furiously pacing back and forth.

There was no need to be so upset.

Okay, there was a lot to be upset about. Mad about. Fucking furious about. But there was no need to be worried.

Just because she had woken up naked with Draco Malfoy and a hangover didn't mean that there had been any sex. She remembered Draco drinking just as much as she had and Merlin knows if Ron had downed that quantity of alcohol there would have been no possibility of sex of any kind, just mostly drunk fondling and maybe sicking up. She clearly remembered the hateful argument with Ron, leaving and going to the pub, running into a group of school chums celebrating a birthday. She remembered surprise that Draco was amongst the group, the thrill of taking shots with him, the tilt of his drunken smile. She however had no recollection of all how she had gone from the pub to the hotel. Still, Draco had to have been drunk, so attempts at sex probably failed.

Even as she reassured herself with this hope she knew it was a lie. The evidence was written all over her body. Her savagely tangled hair upon waking. The light whisker burn on her jaw and throat. Nipples too tender and sensitive to tolerate a bra. Love bites on the undersides of her breasts. Faint bruising on her thighs in the shape of splayed fingers. The low throbbing soreness inside that was the usual aftermath of a rough shagging. Her swollen lady bits. The wet stickiness in the knickers she'd discarded the second she had arrived home.

She'd taken quite the full inventory upon arriving home in the privacy of her shower. Trying to recall some detail. All she had was a vague foggy echo of desire, an impression of warm skin and friction. He'd left a map of where he'd been on her from head to toe. She just wished she could remember the journey.

She'd felt calm and relaxed and content upon waking in a way she hadn't for years. At least until the stabbing hangover attacked her eyes and she had to fumble for her purse and down a hangover potion forcing her into harsh wakefulness. Only to be immediately followed by a calming draught a few seconds later when she caught sight of her bed partner splayed shamelessly naked across three quarters of the bed on his back, cheerfully snoozing, and completely unaware of Hermione Granger freaking out, completely naked, next to the bed.

Cursing silently, trying to find both her shoes, and get the hell out of there before Malfoy woke and made everything ten times worse was not a great way to start the morning. Especially since the thought of going back to the flat she used to share with Ron covered in sex was literally the last thing on earth she wanted. She'd rather go back into the hotel and crash five or six more hours next to Malfoy. So instead she had gathered her composure as best she could and went flat hunting. She had been sure if she dallied long enough, Ron would go on over to his Mum's weekly brunch without her and she could pack up her stuff and be gone before he got home.

Of course, Ron never made things easy and was waiting for her, bleary eyed and hungover when she walked in the door. Apparently guilt ridden because he had sabotaged her damn birth control.

So she'd had unprotected sex. And unless she had hopped from room to room the night before, highly unlikely, she'd had unprotected sex with Draco Malfoy prat extraordinaire. Based on the condition of her body and her hormones she had apparently had fanfuckingtastic unprotected sex with Draco flipping Malfoy and didn't even get the satisfaction of remembering said experience that left her sore and satisfied.

Still, that didn't mean she had to be worried.

As Malfoy so loved to remind everyone in school he had plenty of money. So with advanced wizarding medical techniques he was likely to be free of any disease. Even if he had caught something with his whorish ways an expensive potion or two and he could be right back out shagging his way through wizarding London clean as a whistle.

Pregnancy was also probably unlikely. Despite the empty fertility potion she had noticed discarded in her bathroom this morning. It was only one night and Hermione knew that a woman with a healthy cycle was only fertile a few days a month. A fertility potion, she had to assume Ron had dosed her, only worked to enhance one's cycle. She had never researched it extensively since she was so careful with her birth control and fully prepared to deal with the consequences of pregnancy if she did happen to get pregnant with Ron's child.

Someone else's child, Malfoy's child, was a whole different kettle of fish. Still, what were odds that she had one night of unprotected sex with someone unsuitable to procreate with and she just happened to be fertile?

She supposed she had better figure it out so she would know how worried to be. Grateful that she had decided to run to her muggle parents home, Hermione quickly made her way to the family office, booted up her dad's desktop, and googled the information she needed. She found an online calculator, put in the dates of her most recent period, and stared horrified at the data on the screen.

Apparently she needed to be very worried.


	3. Led Astray

The soft click of the hotel room door woke him and Malfoy immediately regretted opening his bloodshot eyes as the gentle light coming in through the curtains sent sharp pains bolting through his poor abused brain. He turned over with a groan, buried his head in the pillow to block out the light and made a futile effort to go back to sleep. He might have managed to block out the throbbing in his head if his bladder hadn't decided to urgently demand he get out of bed the moment he shifted.

Bloody woman. Why did she have to be up at the crack of dawn and wake him? He grumbled all the way to the loo, and had to brace a hand on the wall to keep himself upright while he took care of urgent business. Finally, he ran dry and was able to make his way to the medicine cabinet over the sink and dig through the potions available. Hotel potions were usually shit but they were better than nothing at all.

He downed three horrid lemon flavored hangover potions and a mind clarification potion in quick succession, washed it down with a bit of water, and gratefully made his way back to bed, crashing dramatically in the middle and hugging the fluffy pillows. At this point after an all night binge he would usually sleep it off until afternoon and wake up bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready for a late breakfast. Today however, his brain was kicking into overdrive.

Usually his perfect recall after a night of debauchery was a terrible curse. Remembering yourself singing in public, or making out with the forty year old bartender, or vomiting in one's own shoes was never necessary and never pleasant. This morning however he was singing his blessed memories praises as he found himself going over every single second of his evening.

It was a lot to process and he was glad he was alone.

Granger was hardly the first muggle-born that he'd slept with and the forbidden thrill of stepping outside of acceptable blood status lovers was long worn out. But Hermione flipping Granger was hardly your usual muggle-born. She was on an entirely different level of forbidden. He'd spent all his formative years suppressing a brimming attraction that had evolved into downright obsession by 7th year. For years he had laughed at himself for immediately sitting up and paying attention every time she was on the news, every article about her in the paper, every time he saw her on the street. Her engagement announcement was met with a three day bender in Las Vegas culminating in being drugged and robbed in a seedy hotel room by a pair of prostitutes.

He'd woken up naked, hungover, and convinced that his life was over. No matter what he had told himself he had always hung on to this half formed fantasy of Hogwarts head girl looking over at him and finally noticing him as a male. Finally seeing him as worthy of her attention. Her forgiveness. It was a stupid dream. He'd sobered up, gone home, and torched the box of prophet articles and photographs he had collected over the years and decided to get on with life. For the first time he started dating seriously. His mother wanted a grandchild and he had responsibilities to the family. He forced himself to go on second dates, and third dates with girls who didn't measure up. Holding the female population up to Grangers impossible standard was just sabotaging any hope of having a real meaningful relationship.

Besides, he was sure he had just built her up in his mind. She was pretty enough but there was no reason to look at other beautiful women and find them lacking because they didn't have wild curls and impossibly big eyes and beestung lips. Sure she was intelligent but there was no reason to cringe every time another woman made some ignorant comment, there were more important things than brains. Sure she was brave, but what did he need bravery in a future wife for? Compassionate and kind and loyal. But never towards him. For him she'd never had anything other than angry words and icy stares. He needed a wife who would be compassionate and kind and loyal to him, not Ronald sodding Weasley.

If she wanted to lower herself to being a brood mare for that redheaded ignorant twit then she couldn't possibly be all he remembered her to be. She had to be duller than his vibrant memories to settle for that self-involved moron. She had to be less pretty than he imagined to pair herself with that gangly freckled fuck. She had to be more common and low than he had believed in order for her to settle for a man who was mediocre in every measurable fashion. She had to be.

Draco had turned a new page in his life. Put his boyhood obsession to rest. He quit longing for her forgiveness and started trying to be the type of man who might one day forgive himself. He grew up. He worked on himself. He was satisfied with his life and his family and his place in the world. He was considering proposing to Daphne Greengrass and his future was bright and unencumbered by the past.

Until Hermione Granger crashed back into his life with all the subtlety of a raging storm. He remembered a pretty young girl with youthful apple cheeks and a kind smile. The woman had ripened into a stunning beauty. Girlish barely contained wild curls had become waves of rich mahogany. Bright intelligent eyes had been steeped in wisdom to become soulful and warm. Round features had matured into striking cheekbones and a heart melting smile. He remembered a girl who was just a little too easy to rib about her nonconforming looks and a shy smile. Time had polished her confidence and presented him with a self assured intelligent wit. Nothing had prepared him for the reality of a Hermione Granger who had grown into a breathtakingly beautiful woman.

The entire evening felt like a very vivid dream. There was a purple and blue bruise on his inner arm to attest to the multiple times he pinched himself to make sure that he hadn't slipped into unconsciousness and fantasy. He bought her drinks she accepted with a heart-stopping smile. She laughed at his jokes and leaned into his touch. She let him dance with her, and flirt with her, and spent the whole evening seemingly charmed. It was fairly early on when he began to suspect polyjuice. The real Hermione Granger would never allow his hand to rest so casually on her thigh. The real Hermione Granger would never allow him to brush up against her so close while they danced. The real Hermione Granger would never let his hand slide over her backside like he had every right.

By the time she let him lead her off the dancefloor to an unoccupied corner and kiss her he was downright convinced this was an imposter. He grew increasingly bold with his advances as his mind ate at the problem ferociously and he started drinking. He watched her like a hawk but saw no potions pass her lips, saw no charms or wandwork to explain her witchery. Who knew about his secret obsession? Who knew that Hermione Granger was his weakness? Why would anyone impersonate her to seduce him? He changed their location and she went willingly. He plied her with drinks and questions and shameless lustful innuendo. She rose to the occasion and kept pace with him every step of the way.

He was damn near mad with lust by the time he decided he didn't care who this was or why this was or what the objective was. Consequences be damned. This masquerader had lips that burned with passion and hips that rolled with desire and a husky voice that sounded just right panting in his ear. Who cared what the daylight brought? He wasn't going to get this chance again. To hell with care and caution. He wanted this. He wanted to indulge the fantasy of a Hermione Granger that wanted him.

So he showed no restraint. He apparated them to a hotel and devoured her. If she really had been Hermione Granger he probably would have held back. Been sweet and suave and tried to make some effort to not frighten and overwhelm her. But since this woman was nothing but an imposter who wanted to use his personal weakness against him he let himself go and gave her exactly what she had bargained for. He covered her in kisses, sucked and bit his way from lips to knees to her sweet quivering sex. He indulged every fantasy he'd ever had. He had her in the shower and on her knees and up against the wall. He surged up into her while she sat astride him letting him tug and bite and worship her nipples.

He fucked her till he was sore and wrung out and exhausted and then cast a charm to give him the fortitude to do it again. He mapped her hollows and dips and curves with kisses and committed them to memory. He wrung signs and moans and screams from her and seared the sounds into his brain for recall on cold winter nights. He steeped himself in her scent and her taste and let himself drown in her pleasure. He didn't allow his eyes to slide shut while he abandoned common sense and luxuriated in the feel of her silken heat wrapped around his almost sore aching cock. No, he kept eyes on her, memorizing the look on her face as he surged inside her, claiming her.

Despite his best intentions he eventually gave into exhaustion. He was weak and allowed himself the pleasure of wrapping her in his arms and holding her naked body like she was really his girl and they would wake up tomorrow and make love again. Just for five minutes, he had told himself, only to wake at the sound of the door closing right back where he had started: naked and alone. He had never thought sleeping with Hermione Granger would make him feel so empty.

He supposed at some point he needed to get on his feet, find his wand, and get on with the business of finding out just who the hell had shared her skin with him. But right now he just wanted to lay there in sheets that smelled like sin and sex with limbs that were relaxed and slightly sore and let the fantasy ride out just a little longer before the harsh light of day intruded and broke his heart all over again.


	4. Driven to Profanity

Hermione ignored the first three letters, sending the owls back with unopened post. She also directed her specially patented de-howler charm at the first red envelope she received returning it mute and harmless to its sender just to demonstrate she could not be bullied. But she finally gave in after de-howling the second red envelope a mere ten minutes later mostly because she needed to respond or she would never get any damned work done.

Despite the fact that she had repeatedly and consistently let Ronald know that due to contamination issues she needed to leave her sealed off clean room to accept mail and then go through decontamination procedures all over again to resume work, he still often sent her owl post. Owls were a decontamination nightmare. She had to sterilize her entire lab each time she admitted an animal, no matter how clean and well kept the owl was. Then she had to change clothes and scrub down and do a series of highly involved charms before she was able to resume her research in the clean room. She had a highly delicate counter potion she was attempting to deliver and this whole series of harassing letters had tanked her productivity.

The missive was scrawled in capitals and the harshness of the script was a testament to how upset Ron was.

'YOU LOVE MUGGLE BIRTH CONTROL SO MUCH, HERE YOU GO,"

Hermione turned the envelope on it's side and stared at the innocent package of Plan B Ronald had seen fit to send her. A whole new level of irritation spiked through her. No apology. No concern for her well being. Just an angry missive with an order to take care of any side effects Ronalds despicable behavior may have caused. Yes, she had it in her power to clean up his mess, to prevent any evidence of his misbehavior. As usual, she was left holding all of the responsibility and Ronald just expected her to take care of things so that he would have to face no consequences.

Like their finances, and the housekeeping, and planning their wedding. Ronald just breezed through life doing whatever the hell he wanted and Hermione had to go after him fixing everything. Well she wasn't cleaning up his mess this time. She wouldn't be lying to his family when they asked why she was so furious and couldn't come round to dinner. She wouldn't be smoothing things over with Harry and Ginny. As far as she was concerned a pregnancy would be poetic justice. Let Ron be the one who was embarrassed and humiliated for a change. Let him explain to people how she had become pregnant with someone else's child before their break up even hit the papers.

With a furious flick of her wrist she dumped the package in the garbage and released the owl out the window without a return address. She broke her own emergency protocols to spell the window silent and impenetrable. Yes if there was an explosion or a fire she just sealed off her quickest exit but Ronald could send 1000 owls and not disturb her day. She began sterilizing her lab with quick purposeful sharp movements that betrayed her growing fury as she got more and more upset.

Angry tears streamed down her face as she did her best to get on with her day and finish her important project. This was just another crystal clear example of how Ron didn't know her at all. First of all, wouldn't he know that she was well aware of what options are out there and what she needed to do to take advantage of them? She didn't need Ron to treat her like a moron and send her instructions like she was an ignorant twat. Secondly, did he even listen to her when she had explained why she wanted to use muggle birth control in the first place? It wasn't because she preferred the muggle way or some such nonsense. It was because chemical birth control was hard on her body and full of chemicals and had side effects, not to mention an increased risk of cancer. If she was going to use a morning after chemical solution clearly she would have gone with the wizarding version which was more effective and less harsh on a woman than Plan B.

By the time she finished up her day Hermione's fury had simmered down to a low flame of resentment and vengefulness. She was actually halfway hoping she was pregnant at this point just to make Ron feel horrible. Apparently violating her trust in the most despicable way by spelling her birth control ineffective than attempting to engage in coitus with her in a misguided attempt to get her pregnant in order to force their relationship to continue wasn't enough to make him feel bad. Knowing him, he had probably shrugged off his wrongdoing by using his usual go to excuse that he was drunk. She didn't care if he had been blind stinking drunk, he had not only chosen to get drunk he had also chosen to deliberately skirt her birth control in order to force her to give in and get his way.

Besides, Ron was too late. If he wanted to influence her he should have moved more quickly. She wasn't one to waffle around, wringing her hands, and not making a decision. Just because Ron had, yet again, put her in a less than ideal situation that was entirely his fault, didn't mean he had any say so whatsoever in how she dealt with the aftermath. After a few hours of panic and tears and heartbreak she had dried her eyes and put on her big girl panties and thought the situation through logically.

A baby at this stage in her life wouldn't be a burden. She wanted a child and her main reason for postponing pregnancy was she had been waiting for Ron to mature into father material. One of the main reasons she had chosen to permanently end her relationship with Ron was that it was clear that he was not making any progress maturing as a person and she was running out of prime child bearing years. Finding and securing a husband prior to getting pregnant would take a minimum of three years with dating norms and a typical engagement period, with the average time involved being five years. She was 25 now, which would put her at about 30. It wasn't recommended to conceive after 35 which didn't leave her a whole lot of breathing room if she wanted two children two years apart.

She simply couldn't afford to waste her husband procuring years waiting around for Ronald hoping that someday he would be the husband and father she wanted. She had already decided that she would no longer put her life plan on hold to attempt to wedge him into a position in which he clearly did not fit and which clearly made him unhappy. He wanted to drink and carouse and cheat, staying out all hours of the night horsing around. She wanted her life to be carefully ordered, well thought out, and peaceful. Ron found that boring and dull and time had not changed their incompatibility. They were growing farther apart, not closer together. So she had decided to move on.

Now, with the possibility of an unplanned pregnancy, for the first time she considered the reality of raising a child on her own. She was financially secure, her career well established, and she desired a child. The problem so far had always been the husband. She wanted someone compatible with her, who would help her raise her child the way she wanted, with her love of knowledge and similar values. She fully acknowledged that she was a bit of a controlling personality and struggled a bit with the thought of sharing such an important responsibility of nurturing another person with anyone less than ideal made her cringe. But Malfoy would want nothing to do with a halfblood child. Rumor was he was to marry Daphne Greengrass. She could have this child with the public none the wiser and simply do everything exactly the way she wanted to and not have to worry a bit about his influence. She would simply claim ignorance of the child's parentage and go it alone.

She would never be so irresponsible as to deliberately set out to get pregnant without the father's consent. But this had been out of her hands, the damage was done, and perhaps this was a blessing in disguise. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she liked it. The Malfoys were a magically proficient group. If she chose to become artificially inseminated in the muggle world in order to become pregnant sans father, she wouldn't be able to select a magical donor. There simply was not a magical pool to choose from since magical beings just used magical fertility options to conceive and didn't rely on outside donors. The Malfoy's had no recorded squibs in their bloodline, were highly intelligent, and pretty. Leave out any parental influence and Draco was actually an ideal match for a magical donor.

So, in the end, she had decided to let fate play out its course and not take any action to deter a successful pregnancy. In fact she had picked up some over the counter prenatal pills and had one along with a nutritionally complete breakfast, a meal she usually skipped. In light of her decision, Ronald sending her a package of Plan B was especially distasteful since he had no idea how she felt about the situation and hadn't bothered to ask her. In a way she was glad, it had been hard to put an end voluntarily to a relationship with someone she loved for purely pragmatic reasons. She knew Ron and her family and his family and their friends would chide her for being too logical and not putting enough value on the emotional side of marriage and child rearing. At least now she had an excuse for ending the relationship that other people would find acceptable and he had made her angry enough this morning to not even consider keeping mum about the whole situation. The only bit she would be keeping to herself would be who she had dallied with and Hermione would be willing to bet her bottom dollar that Ron would never ever in a million years admit to anyone whom she had slept with.

She ended her day ten minutes late, not liking the fact that she was a bit behind in her work due to being interrupted so often in her morning. Normally she would have skipped lunch to make up the time, but with the possibility of a pregnancy she had forced herself to take a twenty minute break to eat her carefully thought out lunch. She couldn't help but spare a thought that maybe soon she wouldn't be able to keep food down at all and she forced herself to suppress a giddy smile. No sense getting excited when it was still too early to know anything. Still, she had made sure to eat every bite and wash it all down with a nice big glass of water, which she usually avoided like the plague. She had read up on the top 7 things to drink during pregnancy and water had sailed in at the number 1 position.

Still, she tried to avoid staying late whenever possible, knowing her own work ethic if left to run unchecked would keep her out all night. She needed to have good work-life balance for her mental health so if she had extra work to do she usually made a point to come in early rather than stay late. But, she allowed herself ten minutes, before she changed into her street clothes and gathered up her recently spelled theft proof purse. She'd never felt the need to take such drastic measures in the past but now felt it was prudent to lock her purse down from outside interference. She unspelled her window before closing the door firmly behind her.

Only to be greeted by a dozen women clustered around the reception desk in the lobby. It was rare that anyone but her stayed late so she was caught off guard for a moment. They were chatting casually grouped around an enormous flower arrangement giving off a strong enough scent that it hit her clear across the room the second she stepped a toe outside of her lab. She made her way over to the group, a friendly smile on her lips to say good evening, that died as she became the center of attention immediately in a way that felt creepy and unnatural. She faltered in her confident stride for a half step but then forced herself to continue on normally, refusing to be intimidated.

"There she is," the receptionist announced heartily breaking the sudden silence as the woman moved aside to make room for her. "We've been waiting for you to come out and read the card!"

The card? Oh, the flowers. A towering magnificent arrangement with cream colored roses and pure white lilies displayed in a lovely sapphire colored glass cube took up most of the real estate on the receptionist's desk. A simple white envelope tucked amongst the greenery had her name handwritten in a disturbingly familiar script. She might have not seen Malfoy's handwriting in a decade but she always had an eye for details, and his backhanded old fashioned letters were unmistakable. "I'd have brought them to you when they were delivered but the delivery man had explicit instructions that they were to be left in reception so as not to contaminate your lab," the receptionist was saying.

"Well, read the card," one of the women prompted and Hermione struggled to find a reason to delay and get away for a moment of privacy. She had no desire at all to open this card in front of a handful of gossiping witnesses. She leaned in to sniff her flowers as a cover for picking them up so her hands would be full and she could edge towards the lifts politely while 'forgetting' to read the card. The arrangement was feather light, clearly having been charmed for easy carrying and did actually smell quite lovely.

"Come on, I'm dying to know who they are from! Ron never sends you flowers. Do you have a new secret admirer?" asked Connie from research with a teasing good natured smile and the other woman tittered annoyingly. Hermione took a step back, giving a nervous little laugh as she tried to figure out how to exit this situation without admitting she knew exactly who the flowers were from.

"I'd be willing to bet I know who sent them," Marietta Edgecombe announced, a sneer to her voice that was always present when anywhere near Hermione. The girl gave a nasty smile and plopped The Daily Prophet down on the recently cleared receptionist desk. There it was, in full color for the entire world to see. Hermione Granger, walking arm in arm, with Draco Malfoy down a cobblestone road. The photo was clearly intimate as Hermione was leaning into his space, obviously tipsy, and Draco was smiling down at her indulgently.

"Fuck," Hermione heard her voice speak the word out loud despite her usual distaste for cursing. So much for her anonymous lover plan. The whole world would now be able to guess who the father of her possible child was now. Suddenly not giving a damn about manners or gossip or anything other than getting as far from that photo as possible Hermione spun on her heel and hightailed it to the lift. "Fuck, Fuck, Fuck…" It was the only word that seemed to fit the situation.


	5. Bathwater

Draco felt much more human after he had apparated home and had a nice refreshing shower. He double checked his appearance in the mirror, trying on his practiced confident smile and straightening his cufflinks. He always was at his best on the inside when he looked good on the outside. He needed to schedule a meeting with Daphne, and purchase her a nice parting gift. He needed to look into polyjuice iterations that would last a full evening without maintenance and find out who was on the current list of known Metamorphmagi. He needed to do damage control and make sure that the real Hermione didn't get wind of their supposed tete a tete.

He took the stairs two at a time to the patio where he had requested a late brunch and fresh coffee. He had every confidence that he would be able to contain the situation and find out who had seduced him, and why, in short order. His positive mood was wonderful for a few short moments but was shattered rather violently when he pulled the morning paper over to glance at the front page to get a bit of news while he ate breakfast.

There she was, in full blown color, draped against him as they made their way down a cobblestone street. Hermione Granger out with Draco Malfoy, unmistakably intimate.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck.

There was no way that she hadn't seen the paper. He glanced at his watch and noted he was overdue to receive a howler. Why hadn't she contacted him yet? Perhaps she was having a lie in. More likely she was at work. He'd read she worked at some sort of high security lab. He snapped at an elf to fetch his assistant immediately. He needed to contact her first, smooth things over, before she snapped and turned him permanently into a ferret. Flowers. All women loved flowers. He'd send her flowers.

* * *

Harry and Ginny were waiting for her next to the apparition point behind her offices. Hermione resisted the urge to try to hide the gigantic vase of flowers she was toting like a reticent child. Ginny was wearing a rather impish smirk and Harry was giving her that 'I don't know what to say' look and Hermione sighed out loud. They knew. She should have realized that Ron's 'I'm pissed and I have to rant' mindset would outweigh any tiny ounce of discretion he had. But they knew Ron as well as she did and had obviously planned to get her side of the story. She gave Harry a tight smile and allowed him to relieve her of her flowers so she could give Ginny a hug.

Ginny slung a friendly arm over her shoulders and the trio turned to walk on down the alley towards a pub they often frequented when they met with her after work. It was a nice place. Deep leather seats, decent lighting, and music low enough to have a conversation. Harry sat the vase down in the middle of their table and asked about her work as if there was nothing else to talk about and she shrugged. It was one of those polite things adults said. Harry didn't really want to hear about the intricacies of her job and Hermione had long since lost the burning need to try to educate everyone around her whether they wanted to be educated or not.

When she ordered only water from the waitress his eyebrow went up asking a million questions but his lips stayed closed. Harry wouldn't push, he would wait until she was ready to talk. Ginny was not so reserved. "So it's true then," she said, a cat got the cream glee in her voice. "You are pregnant."

"It's far too early to know," Hermione said primly, scooping up a handful of nuts to keep her hands busy and not making eye contact.

"What I want to know," Harry interrupted Ginny's squeal. "Is why Ron seems to be convinced that the father of your possible pregnancy is…" he paused, started to form the M for Malfoy before chickening out and finishing with a mumbled "someone else."

"Because it's been weeks since Ron has had the opportunity to do any fathering," Hermione answered. She couldn't help her blush but she did manage to keep her voice to her usual matter of fact cadence. She had never been able to talk to Harry about sex, but hey, he asked. And she would rather answer the actual question he'd asked than the real question he wanted her to answer.

"I don't understand. When Ron left our house he was going straight home to apologize and make things right. Now, out of nowhere, you have moved out and Ron is accusing you of sleeping with…" another awkward pause. "Someone else."

"There was nothing to make right," Hermione said gently reaching over and giving Harry's hand a reassuring squeeze. "I ended things, it was final. Not because he did anything wrong, or I did anything wrong. The relationship had run its course and it was time to move on. There was nothing Ron could do to 'fix' the relationship. It was over and I let him know that. I left him and it is no longer Ronalds business who I keep company with."

"However," she continued when Harry started to speak, "What Ron chose to do after we broke up may have broken our friendship beyond repair and I'm guessing he has not told you about that."

She drew her arm back, sitting up straight and putting a chill into her voice. "Ron decided to try to 'force' a reason for us to be together by magically sabotaging my birth control, dosing me with a fertility potion, and trying to entice me into sex."

Her friends wide eyed silence said it all. Ron had spilled all about her run in with Malfoy to her friends, but had owned none of his own wrongdoing.

Finally Harry stuttered out a weak "he was drunk,".

"Don't care," Herminione said firmly. "He hasn't even apologized. He pelted my office with howlers. He ran to my friends to tell them I'd misbehaved. He sent me a box of muggle morning after pill so I could clean up the mess. He was drunk does not excuse this. Nothing can excuse this." Her voice broke a bit and Hermione took an angry swipe at her eyes.

"You can't be serious," Ginny finally whispered. "Ron wouldn't do that."

"He would and he did," Hermione got up and grabbed her purse. "To be fair, he hasn't confessed to the fertility potion. I'm just assuming he used the empty bottle he left in my bathroom. Excuse me."

She hightailed it to the bathroom to clean up her face, hoping no one recognized her. Every move she made was scrutinized. She didn't want it to be in the paper one day that she was canoodling with Malfoy and the next bawling her eyes out in a public loo.

She sat too long on the stool, trying to dry up her stupid dripping eyes. She wanted to get out her phone and google just how quickly emotional swings started during pregnancy but she didn't want to keep her friends waiting. Finally she heard someone else enter the bath with a click of the door. "Hermione, are you still in here?"

She didn't answer but Ginny was not to be deterred, and checked the stalls until she arrived at Hermione's chosen hiding place. She squatted down and took her hand. "I'm sorry, my brother is a stupid arse."

"Yes," she agreed with a sniffle. "He is."

"I don't understand, you've never, I mean...Draco Malfoy?" Ginny was trying to ask in the nicest way possible without making her cry harder and her face was all screwed up with the effort and her hand was holding Hermione's just a little too tight.

Hermione gave a twisted little laugh and shook her head. "I don't know Ginny. I had a lot to drink. He was flirting with me. Guys like that don't typically give me a second glance and I was feeling so low, it was kind of exciting and flattering you know," Ginny nodded, Hermione knew she would understand. "And I guess I wanted to do something I couldn't come back from. I've broken up with Ron before, but he gives me those sweet looks and those sweet kisses and tells me how much he loves me and I cave everytime. I could never sleep with Malfoy and then go back to Ron. Every kiss, it was like a death knell. I don't really remember it all that well."

"Well every woman has to do something crazy and wild at least once," Ginny said with a knee slap. "Come on girl, let's wash your face and get you home."

* * *

Ginny and Harry did a great job of keeping her mind off Ron and Malfoy and all things pregnancy related. They ordered take out and watched a muggle movie that they giggled through, and stuffed themselves with junk food. However, time away from home was a precious commodity when you had two children, and they said their goodbyes by ten o'clock so they could go relieve the babysitter. Ginny offered to stay, gave her flat belly a look, but Hermione shooed her off. She wasn't ready to talk about her possible pregnancy yet.

Leaving her alone with her thoughts, and her worries, and the damnable flowers that had spiced her entire apartment with their lovely subtle scent. The fact that her friends, her coworkers, and the entire wizarding world at large knew she'd been out on the town with Malfoy squashed all possibility of a quiet mysterious pregnancy. Every hour she delayed taking action made plan B less effective. She'd been quietly thrilled with the possibility of life this morning. This evening it was more a sense of dread.

Sleep.

She should sleep on it and see how she felt in the morning.

She took another sip of water and stared at the flowers. It was going to be harder than anticipated to choke down 8 glasses of water a day. She'd made an effort today and was only on glass number 5. She'd have to do better tomorrow if she wanted a healthy baby. The thought of a child maybe resting below her belly button gave her a flare of joy and she put her hand to the flat firm skin thinking about how maybe soon her hips would spread and her tummy would swell and her baby would kick.

Why should she let what anyone else thought take that away from her?

With a rush of determination she slapped the water glass down, strode across the apartment and grabbed the card tucked in her flowers. She flicked the envelope open with her thumb and pulled out the note. Terse and Polite. Inviting her to lunch. What had she expected? A romantic declaration of some type? She snorted. Malfoy had seen the paper and wanted to damage control before his girlfriend dumped him over a one night stand. Well, what was done was done and there was no need to indulge him. He wouldn't care about her possible pregnancy so there was nothing to talk with him about.

She penned a quick 'no thank you' on the card, summoned an owl and crossed Malfoy from her mental list of things to do. She braided her hair, shimmied into pajamas and slipped under the covers in short order. Sleep, she needed to make sure she got enough sleep for a successful pregnancy.


	6. Bedhead

Well, it was official. Hermione Granger still thought he was the scum of the earth and not worth her time. Despite the fact that she had to be incensed about her picture in the paper she wouldn't even do him the courtesy of a face to face meeting. Who knows, maybe she thought he orchestrated the whole thing somehow. What mattered is that after all these years, all the charity work he had done, and the community building, all the damage control to his reputation. It all counted for nothing. She couldn't get past his childhood indiscretions. She wouldn't even tell him to go to hell. Not a thank for you for the flowers. Not a request for more information. Just a 'no thank you' and a dismissal.

It was either fall into a bottle and drink himself to oblivion or do something productive. And he didn't drink like that anymore. Socially, he'd toss a few back. But the days of knock down drinking till he was drunk and disorderly were behind him. Still, days like this, he missed the long slow pull of numbing alcohol. He had told himself it wouldn't affect him. He had told himself he could indulge in the fantasy and then go on the next day like nothing had happened. He didn't know why he lied to himself. He never managed to really believe his own lies anyway.

Well, if he wasn't going to drink himself into a stupor he had better figure out what to do. Hermioine didn't want to meet with him and there was no sense in sending himself back into a love sick tailspin over it. He'd known she despised him. It was no surprise. So, a brutal reassessment of the to-do list. He needed to break up with Daphne. He didn't need to be considering marrying her when it had taken nothing but the right set of eyes to lure him to another's bed. He needed to hire someone discreet to look into who might have been impersonating Granger and get to the bottom of why. He needed to get into the office and make up for all the work he had blown off Monday.

And he would. He would get out of bed any moment and spring into action. He stared out the window at the courtyard outside and thought about all he was going to do and didn't move a muscle. Maybe tomorrow.

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes with a frustrated sign. Her bed was the mattress lacked the deep comfort of her old broken in one she had left behind. Her sheets were too starchy, her blanket too heavy. But these slight annoyances were not what was keeping her up. Her dreams had been all tangled limbs and gray eyes and heated friction. She might not remember the sex with Draco while awake, but apparently her subconscious was absolutely fixated on it. She lay in bed, frustrated and tired, a familiar tension in her thighs and a low throbbing ache. Would it be so bad to rub one out so she could get some sleep?

She let one hand ghost over her chest and found her nipples still a little sore and sensitive. Still, she couldn't help a gentle little twist, a little pull, feeling lusty enough to enjoy the sensation.

She let her eyes flutter shut and shifted her hips. Let her mind wander to fuzzy memories of deep warm wet kisses and hands on her hips and thighs and breasts. He'd had a heavy touch on her breasts, insistent tugging and raw fascination. She roughened her touch to mimic vague memories and parted her thighs enough to let some of the bedding in between, starting up the natural motion of her hips and rocking her body in time to her pants, letting the heavy blanket give her a little light friction where she needed it.

So what if she was indulging a little bit? She didn't have a boyfriend/fiance. She was completely unattached. No one ever needed to know that she had tossed off to thoughts of Draco Malfoy in the privacy of her own bed in the small hours of the night. At least one benefit to being alone in her empty new flat. She had never really masterbated much living with Ron because he always seemed to know and then want sex. So it was nice to be alone, able to move in the bed, let out a quiet gasp, and know that no one would hear her.

She was just pushing one hand firm and steady down her body and sliding under the waistbands of her pajamas to get a little more serious about the friction when a loud pounding on the front door of her flat had her ripping her hand out of knickers guiltily. Another round of insistent knocking had her rolling out of bed and grabbing her robe. The only people who knew where the location of her new flat were Harry and Ginny so there must be an emergency. Sans slippers she rushed to the door before the knocker could pound a third time.

She was not pleased to find a disheveled drunken Ronald Weasley on her threshold. For a heartbeat she considered slamming the door but then got a better look at him. One eye swollen shut and already blackening, split lip, bruised jaw. "Jesus Ron!," she exclaimed, pulling him inside with one hand and shutting the door with the other. He was unsteady enough on his feet that she knew he'd been deep in his cups. "Have you been fighting?"

She noted his pained walk and his ripped shirt as she herded him into her living room and pushed him down on the deep gray sofa that had come with the flat. "No," He protested and she gave him a look before he relented. "Well, Harry had a go at me until dad pulled him off, but I didn't do any fighting."

She sighed annoyed. She didn't need Harry to go beating up poor Ron, she was perfectly capable of fighting her own battles. Still, she should have expected it. She knew how protective Harry could be, and the instinct to defend had only increased with the birth of his daughter. "How did you find me?" she asked as she went to prepare an ice pack. She hadn't unpacked her things yet so he would have to settle for yesterday's blouse wrapped around raw ice.

He accepted the pack gratefully leaning back with a feeling groan. "I had to come, I needed to apologize," his voice had a slight slur, and he was madder than an old hatter if he thought she would be accepting a drunken middle of the night apology when he could barely string two thoughts together.

Hermione glanced at her watch with a grimace.

"You needed to wake me up at six in the morning to apologize?" She asked tartly, already done with his shenanigans and deciding whether she should put him out despite his drunken state or if she should let him sleep it off on her couch.

"Yes!" Hermione was a bit startled when he jackknifed into a sitting position and fumbled for her hand. "I have to apologize right now because I'm being admitted into rehab at 8 am and I don't know how long they will keep me. And I had to agree to go into a sexual assault education program right after or mum wouldn't let me back into the house so I don't have much time. And I have to say I'm sorry because I'm an idiot."

He was crying now and not aware of it. Snotty nose and slurred desperation and a grasp on her hand that was just a little too tight for comfort. "I didn't think it through. We'd had sex loads of times and I was drunk and I didn't think about how I was violating your consent and I have to make sure you know that I know how wrong I was and that I will never ever be so stupid again,"

He lurched forward to lay his head on her shoulder.

"You believe me, don't you Hermione?" Obviously Ginny had been lecturing him because she didn't think that Ronald had ever thought about anything quite so complicated as consent. It was a lovely apology. Unfortunately, she doubted he would even remember it in the morning. Still, she was a bit floored that he had agreed to rehab, much less a sexual assault education program. Ronald avoided education and self reflection at all costs. He snuffled into her hair and let out half a snore.

Annoyed and overwhelmed Hermone eased him off her shoulder and transfigured a couch cushion into a blanket for him. She pulled off his half laced trainers, threw the ice pack in the sink, and tucked him in before going to get her wand to send Harry a message on where he could collect his wayward friend. She wouldn't want him to miss that 8 AM appointment.


	7. Waiting Game

Thank God It's Friday, thought Hermione, with an uncharacteristically sour attitude. For two days she had been having low back cramps, mild, nothing that a hot pad and a midol didn't help with. The problem was that she had experienced the same cramps every month since she had been fifteen and been blessed with her first period. Still, she held onto hope that she might be with child. But hope wasnt always practical, so she still put a panty liner in before coming to work this morning. And then spent a full half hour in the ladies bawling her eyes out when she found spotting in her panties.

To top off the impending doom of her period when she desperately wanted to be late, she was sure that the ladies in reception had heard the sobbing and attributed it to the string of articles about her in the Prophet. For the most part Hermione had been ignoring the increasingly wild speculation about her relationship with Malfoy, Ronald's relocation to rehab, and the supposed love triangle that pushed the poor redheaded hero over the edge. She'd stuck firmly to her 'no comment' policy for the press and was relieved that no one had apparently been able to get a statement from Malfoy either. Today the news had featured a buck-toothed, frizzy haired, younger version of herself better left behind and indicated that the 'affair' with Malfoy went all the way back to their school days.

In a way it would be a relief that the press didn't have a pregnancy to slobber over, especially since wedding bells were not in her future. It didn't help that the very thought of trying to find a silver lining to not being pregnant made her want to lock herself back in the loo and cry her eyes out some more. Plus someone had forgotten the gherkins on her sandwich making her lunch inedible. As if she didn't have enough problems. Oh, and she was late on her deadline, had a horrible zit on her forehead, and her hair had decided to have a frizz day which made it impossible to step foot out in public because she didn't want the press to have another horrible photo of her.

She just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a week.

Completely uninterested in her work Hermione flipped open her menses calendar to mark that she had spotted today and did a little count. Hmmm, she was running a little early. Not unheard of but usually she didn't have spotting for another 3 or 4 days. Well, she had been under a lot of stress what with the break up and the move and the Malfoy situation. And she may have been dosed with a fertility potion, that might throw her period out of whack as well. But if she was early this month, she would probably be early next month and she had planned a weekend away with Ginny specifically on days she didn't expect to be bleeding. Great.

Needless to say she was ready to snarl viscously at the person who was buzzing to be let into her office. With a huff she got up and lifted the ward on the door, dumping her useless lunch in the bin, and kicking it back under the table.

"In a mood are we?" Ginny asked as she made her way into the lab, balancing take out containers and smoothies.

Lunch! Hermione instantly forgave her friend the intrusion and bustled over to help her with her burden. Soup and sandwiches and chips and pasta. Lovely, all lovely. And little gherkins! Hermione popped one in her mouth before they even got settled giving Ginny a happy smile. "You have perfect timing," Hermione exclaimed, giving a good firm hug the second all hands were free. "How do you always know when I need you?"

"Woman's intuition," Ginny declared, making herself comfortable and taking a sip out of her smoothie. Hermione gave her a look and she sighed. "I just figured you wouldn't want to go out today, what with the paper and all."

"Someone really ought to do something about that rag," Hermione agreed as she took a nice big satisfying bite of sandwich and washed it down with a lovely gulp of smoothie.

Ginny peered at her closely, frowning, and Hermione refused to get self conscious about her less than stellar appearance. "You've been crying," her friend determined. "Surely not over the trash in the news?"

"No," Hermione shook her head. "No, nothing like that." She sighed and decided to be honest. Ginny had been unusually sensitive about the whole pregnancy issue, waiting for Hermione to bring it up, but she knew her friend must be boiling over with questions.

"I just got some spotting today, and I've got cramps, and it's probably better for everyone involved if I'm not pregnant." A sniffle escaped, she blinked back wetness in her eyes. "I knew better, I knew better to get my hopes up but I'm still crying all over the place like a damned fool."

"Well spotting doesn't necessarily mean you are not pregnant. If you did the deed on Saturday it really is just too early to tell. If you get a full on period...well then we will know." Her friend said gently, giving her a little pat on the knee. "I guess the big question is, if you are pregnant and you are sure it can't be Ronalds, what are you going to do about the father in question?"

Hermione gave a shaky shrug and turned her attention to her lunch. Ginny wouldn't understand Hermione being thrilled with the idea of single motherhood. Her family was very traditional. Harry was a wonderful and devoted husband and father. But not everyone got a Harry Potter in their lives. Some girls got stuck with the Ronald's and the Draco's of the world and still wanted a baby. It wasn't like the child wouldn't have male influence. The Weasley brothers alone were a force to be reckoned with even before one counted Harry and Ronald and Nevielle. She'd make due.

"Hermione, we really ought to talk about this…" Ginny trailed off at Hermione's closed off expression.

"Odd's are, I'm not pregnant," Hermione said firmly. "And if I am I will deal with it then. How are the kids?"

Her friend looked as though she wanted to argue, to insist, but finally took a breath and allowed the subject change and began to tell about James's latest exploits.

* * *

Draco bounced his foot over his knee as he re-read the report compiled by one of three investigative professionals he had hired. This particular individual had been hired to get intel on Granger herself and he was the only person who had come up with a damn thing. No reports of Granger being in two places at the same time. No plots or schemes uncovered in his work or personal life that he wasn't already aware of. No secret developments in Polyjuice. No unregistered Metamorphmagi running loose in the streets. A few minor things, someone skimming money off the top in the records department. Some new blackmail material about a few minor players. But nothing, nothing that fit the scenario of an impersonator seducing him. It had to be personal. Someone who knew about his secret obsession. He couldn't imagine who, but he was having several suspects followed. Nothing of interest as of yet.

But the report of Granger was just full of useless but fascinating facts. Break up facts. The long term relationship that had ended his wayward hopes of ever having a change with Granger had failed. He hated himself for feeding his obsession so he was just trying to just focus on things that might be relevant to finding out who exactly had impersonated her. He flipped the page with a blase attitude and a bored sigh, hoping to give the investigator the impression that the contents of this file held no interest for him. He paid no mind to the dozen recent photographs and secretly lied to himself that he would not devour them with his eyes later. When he did manage to find a tidbit of interest.

"This date," Malfoy questioned, tapping the report, "You are certain that Granger secured a new flat on Sunday morning?"

"Yes sir,Mr. Malfoy sir," the man replied, all nerves and twisting of hands. "She signed the lease at 9 am, paid cash, and moved almost nothing in but new bedding and some clothes."

Hmmm….interesting. That would mean that the Weasley breakup happened before the Monday morning bombshell in the paper showing Granger out on the town with a man who she was not engaged to. He had so desperately wanted to be a fly on the wall for that conversation. He couldn't help but wonder if that article had started a fight that ended with a break up. He couldn't help but hope. However, this timeline put the break up first. How long had the end been brewing? All accounts pointed towards happy engaged bliss, wedding plans firmly established, right up until Weasley decided to go into rehab. One would think that one thing caused the other but if Hermione moved out on Sunday, and Ron didn't go into rehab until Tuesday. Maybe the git decided to go into rehab in a ploy to win his finance back. That made sense.

But the timing. Hermione's imposter had left his bed on Sunday morning at about 8 am.

If the two things were related then he had to consider the impossible. That Hermione had been out on the town drinking to dull the pain of a breakup and somehow ended up at the same shindig as he had been at. It was ludicrous. The real Hermione Granger would have never let him kiss her, would have never kissed him back so sweet. Would have never in a million years gotten naked with him. He had never seen her out and about on the bar scene. He had never seen her out dancing or kissing anyone besides her insipid fiance. She had to be an imposter.

"I need to find out more about the breakup, I want to know why and when it happened." Malfoy managed to get out. "And secure Granger's location Saturday night."

"Uhm, Mr. Malfoy. It's been confirmed by photographic evidence that she was with you Saturday night. Are you indicating that the photos are falsified?"

He felt sick, confused, and excited at the same time. No, he shouldn't jump to conclusions. She wouldn't even have lunch with him, much less shag him stupid. He knew better. He knew what she thought of him.

"Get the whole timeline," he ordered, ignoring the investigator's question about the validity of the photo's. "Assume nothing, find out exactly where she was, who she was with, what she did. Every second of her day on Saturday."


	8. Be Careful What You Wish For

Hermione could admit to herself that she was being overly paranoid. She'd been dodging the press all week and now she was on an errand that she definitely wanted to keep private. She wasn't about to be caught by the press picking up a muggle pregnancy test. So she was taking the long way around, paying extra care to her surroundings, noting faces. Which was the only reason she spotted someone following her. Her tail was good, very clever, very good at blending in with the crowd. She might have never noticed him if not for her hyper vigilance. She thought of Moody with a grim smile as she laid a trap to catch a predator.

Follow me will you? To what purpose? For his sake she hoped he was nothing but an ambitious photographer. Anything more nefarious and she would show no mercy. She knew all well just how ugly a moment could turn in a heartbeat. If it was just her, maybe she could afford leniency, give this fool the benefit of the doubt. When you added up her sore breasts, her raised temperature, a period that was missing in action...there was someone else to consider. She would raze this entire city street to the ground if need be.

Pureblood prejudice wasn't dead but she'd be damned if she let it anywhere near her child.

Drifting through shops seemingly at random. Wand clutched in her pocket unobtrusively, eyes peeled for co-conspirators. Out a back door, down an alley. A Quick sticking charm, a lightening charm, up, up to the roof, light as air, taking the high ground and hunkering down. Clearing her trail with a silent spell, disguising her presence with a disillusionment charm, aiming her wand to fire first ask questions later. All he had to do was go on by. Just go home when he realized he lost her. She held her breath, holding onto hope that her follower could be so easily deterred. And then the door to the shop opened, a head popping out to look around. 'Don't be him,' she prayed even as she twisted her wand precisely, shifting her stance. He turned his face to look down the alley, giving her a clear identification, and she let loose her first curse.

* * *

Draco was finishing up with his work for the week, sorting his inbox, sending out a few final memo's. His mind was elsewhere and he wanted to finish up quickly so he would have time to go through the reports on his personal project before going home. He was missing something. There had to be some clue, some info, that he just wasn't seeing. He needed to start back at the beginning and go over everything with fresh eyes. The paper with Granger's face glared back at him. It was a perfect likeness. The exact girl he had slept with. It had to be polyjuice, Metamorphmagi never got such precise results. The photo Granger tossed her hair and tilted her face at him with a sly little grin, the exact same grin from his recent memory. Whoever had done this had researched her thoroughly in order to copy her mannerisms perfectly.

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair, rubbing the crick in his neck and wishing for the three thousandth time that Granger had accepted his invitation to lunch. She would probably be able to figure this all out by dinner, with liberal time left over for insulting him and world peace. It didn't help that his dreams were downright plagued with her. He woke over and over with the taste of her in his mouth and the ghost of her skin under his hands and a soul deep wanting that he had no way to satiate. Maybe he just wanted to find her imposter so he could pay her to do it again.

Still, for all his wanting, he was shocked speechless when a very live, very real, very angry Hermione Granger stormed his office.

He gaped at her for a heartbeat, taking in her wild appearance, before he had to duck to avoid the entire fucking person she flung at him with her wand. He watched his private investigator hit his desk with a crash, sliding across, and tumbling to the floor with a pained gasp. Fuck. He knew better than to give the poor man any of his attention. He might be worked over, but Granger wasn't a killer, so odds are the bloke would live until he could diffuse the situation. If he could diffuse the situation.

She was practically hurling herself into his space, her wand held offensively, and he couldn't help the thrill of excitement that coursed through him at seeing her again. She was just as lovely in the daylight as she had been in the evening. He held up his hands, signalling his cooperation, giving her his most soothing smile. She was having none of it.

"This person," she snarled, positively livid, "claims to work for Malfoy Enterprises. You are Malfoy Enterprises."

"I can explain," he started in a calm measured voice meant to bring her volume down but she kept right on yelling, clearly having no need for his input.

"Let's be clear Malfoy," She got right up in his face, kissing distance. He could smell her sweet breath, count her soft little freckles, drown in her big beautiful eyes.

"I don't care why you hired him, or what your excuse is, or what kind of game you are playing. It makes no difference. Spending the night together gives you no right," she jammed her wand between them, jerking it threateningly, "no right in any way whatsoever to keep tabs on me in any way shape or form. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," he agreed, with a touch of breathlessness he couldn't control. Would she hex him if he dipped his head just five inches and kissed her panting lips? Did it matter? It would be worth it. No sooner than he tensed to move, than she was suddenly blushing and stepping away.

Blushing, over him.

"Excellent," she said in a lower tone, with a touch of breathiness of her own. She spared a glance for her captive. "I expect you to clean up this mess."

He barely had time to nod before she was exciting his office as quickly as she had entered.

He righted his chair and sank into it, completely floored. For once in his life he was totally shocked and flabbergasted. It was going to take a moment to process. He used his wand to summon a mediwitch and leaned back in the chair with a satisfied smirk. He didn't know what was going on, how he managed to get so fucking lucky, what the hell was going on in the girls head. All he knew was that she had apparently gone willingly to his bed and enjoyed every sweat soaked, grinding, lusty moment of it. Hermione Granger apparently desired him, whether she liked him or not, and he wouldn't be a Slytherin if he didn't plan to fully take advantage.


	9. Newsworthy

Hermione cursed her temper for the millionth time as she paced back and forth in her tiny little flat. It was still bare and empty, completely non-personalized, and she had felt little desire so far to go shopping. She supposed she could pop over to her old flat she had shared with Ron and pack up some of the belongings they had collected over the years, but she wanted a fresh start and she knew how sentimental Ron could be about physical things. The bare little plain table had a grocery stack with a dozen pregnancy tests unopened, a bottle of folic acid, a stack of research on possible midwives, and an open letter from Ron.

The letter was nice. He was doing well. He was thinking about things. He missed her. Writing back was just another thing she was putting off. He hadn't outright said so, but he had implied that this whole rehab stint was supposed to get their relationship back on track. The only relationship she intended to pursue with him was friendship and she didn't want to stomp on his feelings while he was trying to get better. So she hadn't written. And she hadn't taken the pregnancy tests she had purchased. She'd been so anxious to know, was still anxious to know, but she just couldn't take the test yet. Couldn't find out for sure because then she would have to deal with the fallout, one way or the other.

Which was why she was cursing her temper as she paced. If she had just taken a few minutes to calm down, reason things out, think long term she would have more information. Maloy had clearly been willing to explain why he was having her followed. But no, she had to scream at him that she didn't care before stomping out like an overwrought child. She wanted to blame her emotional response on possible pregnancy hormones, but this wasn't the first time she'd let her temper seduce her into acting rash.

What on earth would make Malfoy have her followed?

He must know about her possible pregnancy. As far as she knew only the Weasley's were aware that her birth control had been tampered with. It certainly wasn't common knowledge or the details would be splashed all over the prophet. So how would he know. She didn't even officially know herself yet. She glanced over at the pile of pregnancy tests in the clear plastic bag and kept right on pacing. But there was no other explanation and she certainly couldn't come out and ask him.

She would have to deal with him at some point. Originally her plan had been fairly uncomplicated. She would simply not disclose the possible father to anyone, perhaps even claim ignorance. Ron would keep his mouth shut. Malfoy would perhaps suspect, if he thought of it at all, but since she had never directly confronted him regarding the matter he would simply avoid responsibility and go on with his happy little Pureblood life. She got her baby. He got his future. Everyone got what they needed.

Now however, there was widespread gossip regarding her dalliance with Malfoy. Left to run unchecked the truth had grown into a lie monster of epic proportions. Today's paper had suggested that this 'relationship' had only been kept secret to protect her from Malfoy senior who was rumored to be quite ill. Upon his death, Malfoy would open his family and home to her with open arms and they would run off in the sunset together and live happily ever after. If she knew the public, and sometimes she was surprised by how well she did, they probably thought this garbage story was romantic.

Her new plan required Malfoy's cooperation. What she needed to do was deny the dalliance. And then set up some sort of fake relationship with an unknown muggle that could be broken off in a season, leaving her a single mum. She was 99% sure that Malfoy would want nothing to do with a pregnancy, but his reputation in the community was a very motivating factor. He had moved heaven and earth to redeem the Malfoy name. Abandoning a child out of wedlock would absolutely tank all of his progress in that area.

So she needed to take the damn pregnancy test, reach out to Malfoy for a secret meeting, and start unravelling this whole messy debacle. She looked over at the pregnancy tests again, sighed, stomped over to the table. There was no sense in putting it off. Delay wasn't practical and waiting would not change the outcome. Plus she needed to pee. She'd been putting off going for a half hour after the owl from Ron woke her because first urine was the most accurate. She selected three early detection tests, hurried to the loo, and did her business.

A few minutes later she was staring at proof and crying. There was no putting it off. Malfoy would have to be contacted. He was due to be a father.

* * *

She only let herself blubber a few minutes. Oddly comforted by the fact that her most recent bout of teariness was most likely due to a hormonal shift and got in the shower. Planning a secret meeting in the wizarding world was no easy feat and she needed to be on top of her game. She'd go to the post and send him an untraceable owl that couldn't be associated with her. She'd suggest a meeting place in a Muggle town outside of London. Her travel options were limited due to her pregnancy. Experts insisted that Apparation was safe during the first trimester but she wasn't about to risk it. Portkey was considered 'safe' but she just couldn't imagine tumbling about at high speeds to be good for her baby. She hated broomstick. She'd have to take the knight bus, magic carpet, or muggle transportation.

She scolded herself for being shallow and silly. But still took extra time to dry her hair, put on a splash of lip gloss, a touch of mascara. She called herself nine types of fool as she used her wand to disguise her blemish. She didn't care what Malfoy thought of her appearance. She knew this was a lie even as she said it outloud. She just couldn't help but care. She couldn't help but remember that he had very recently seen her both drunk and naked. She wanted to look calm and put together. She wanted to look sophisticated. God help her, she wanted to look pretty.

Disgusted with herself she nonetheless slipped into a good bra and panties that did wonderful things to her silhouette. She put on a dress that was flattering and sandals that were more beautiful than they were practical. She told herself that she ought to dress nice while she could because in a matter of months her figure wouldn't allow it. And that was true. She also knew that Malfoy probably remembered a frumpy little girl. Her recent run ins had probably done nothing to deter that perception. First she had been drunk in jeans. Then mad as a hatter in work clothes. She just wanted him to look at her and see more than a bookworm lunatic.

The truth was she had no idea what he thought of her and that was driving her as crazy as everything else. He must have thought something other than frumpy bookworm if he had taken her to bed and shagged her stupid. Had he looked at her and been attracted? Or had she just been available and easy and he was male. She couldn't remember the evening well enough to know just how boldly she had thrown herself at him.

She didn't want to walk up to him in the light of day and have him be horrified that he had slept with her and swear off alcohol forever. It was stupid and vein and shallow and she couldn't help herself. This was probably the last time she would ever see him. It didn't matter if he thought her plain. It didn't matter what he thought. With a final burst of self discipline she set the perfume she had lifted back down on her counter unsprayed and gathered up her purse. She decided she would take her car to Diagon Alley and proceed from there.

She was going over what she would say in her letter in her head as she made her way down to her little rented garage and digging in her purse for her keyes so she didn't immediately see him and was thoroughly startled when he said "Hello" and she jerked her head up. There he was Malfoy. In the flesh, dripping with confidence and good looks, leaned up against her car, clearly waiting for her. He gave her that slow smooth smile he often flashed for photographers and her stomach dropped to her gold strappy sandals. Okay, well she had wanted a meeting. Be careful what you ask for.


	10. Afternoon Delight

It was slightly gratifying to have Hermione falter in her step, giving him a startled look. Putting others off balance was a skill he had cultivated, especially in his youth, and it was nice to know he could manage it with her if only for a handful of heartbeats. She was dressed like a Christmas present in a lovely flowing golden muggle robe with a cinched in waist and belled out skirt, very fetching and absolutely a perfect compliment to her warm autumn coloring. Her vibrant curls were swept back off her face and secured by a delicate little flower barrette that made her look far more innocent that he knew her to be and matched her equally virginal sandals. For some reason the effect had his heart pounding in his chest so hard he thought it was going to escape.

She didn't run. She didn't give him a dirty look or a contemptuous sneer. She didn't even sigh. Instead, her eyes opened wide with surprise and before he knew it she had hurried up to him and taken his arm to lead him away from her car as if they were old friends and she greeted him everyday. He allowed himself to be led, fighting a giddy smile, and listening to her low breathy voice with growing excitement as he realized they were headed back towards her building.

"We can't be seen together," she was whispering furtively, looking about. "Have you seen the papers? The press would have a field day with a photograph of you and I together here."

Together, he liked the way that sounded. The warmth of her fingers wrapped around his arm, the closeness of her body, was almost overwhelming.

"Did you get my flowers?" He asked inanely, ignoring her near panic and enjoying her exasperated irritation as she told him they were 'very nice' out of pursed lips.

She urgently pressed a button on the ugly concrete wall she had led him to and angled her body in such a way that he blocked her from view. She was closer to him, close enough for him to see the golden flecks in her beautiful eyes, but she released his arm and the spot felt cold and bare where her warmth used to be. "Did you see where that Rita Skeeter said we'd been an item since school?" She asked, a mere whisper and he leaned in a bit to hear her better, breathing in the clean warm scent of her. There was a bell, and a door slid open to reveal a lift. Before he could ask about it she had hustled him inside and pressed one of the lit up buttons inside rendering them alone in the darkened space.

Well, if she wanted him alone so badly, he wasn't going to waste any more time being timid and stupid.

She opened her mouth but he didn't give her a chance to say anything else. He stepped in, slid an arm around her waist pulling her in close, and tasted those pink plump lips of hers.

She did sigh then, a little puff of air against his lips, and leaned into him warm and willing and delicious. Even if this lift was half as slow as the one at the ministry he only had a few moments before they reached the third floor and he intended to take advantage of every warm wet sucking moment of it. He pulled and pressed and nibbled at firm soft lips that kissed him back, thrilled in the way she pressed her curves against him, groaned in her mouth when one long slender arm slipped around his neck to pull him even closer.

He might have kissed her forever and never moved from this spot if the contraption they were on hadn't beeped and automatically opened, flooding the space with artificial light. He couldn't shag the girl here, he told himself, surely she had a bed or a sofa or a bathtub in her new little flat where he could get her horizontal. All his doubt and self loathing and hopelessness from the last two weeks rattled in his head along with his acute awareness of his arms around her, the taste of her in his mouth, the quickened breath of desire.

She didn't protest when he backed her into the hall, but he got no further than the opposite wall where she wrapped herself around him and proceeded to subtly burn him where he stood with smoldering kisses that rendered thought and planning and logic impossible. It was slow clapping from an onlooker along with a low wolf whistle that broke them apart, Hermione springing back startled and blushing.

"Oh, don't mind me," said the rude floppy haired muggle who'd interrupted them. "Just enjoying the show."

Clearly embarrassed and flustered she was quick to grab his hand and tug him along again, not that he protested, to a door marked with cheap brass numbers, 312. She glanced down the hall double checking for muggles before pulling her wand to unlock her door and pushing him inside in one quick movement. She shoved her front door closed behind her, leaning against it with a nervous laugh.

Her lips were swollen from his attention, dewy and just a little bit wet. A lovely flush to her skin, hair slightly mussed, her eyes wide, her chest heaving just a little. He couldn't help but look her over and was absolutely enchanted when she blushed like a schoolgirl and ducked her eyes, unable to keep eye contact. He had never seen her act shy in all their time at school and certainly not during their tumultuous night together. How much of her bold assertiveness had been the drink?

No better time than to find out, he told himself, taking her hand and pulling her closer. "We should talk," she whispered breathily and he agreed completely, tilting her chin up, brushing a finger over her petal soft bottom lip, so he could glimpse the heaven within.

"Yeah," he managed to get out passed a throat gone tight. Here she was again, better than any fantasy he'd ever had. Completely sober, washed in daylight from the window, looking up at him with desire and trust and just a hint of uncertainty.

"Later," he declared. Later when his mind was clear from the fog of lust and he'd had a chance to show her exactly how he felt before he let words get in the way. Better to use body language, apparently they spoke it fluently. Especially with their lips.

Soft warm curves and rotating hips and slow sucking kisses layered one over the other. Her long silky hair tangled in his fingers as he bent her head back to get at her slender neck, the fluttering pulse beneath her skin, creamy shoulders, round breasts. The ties of her dress came off easy allowing him to shove it out of the way and the solid weight of the door allowed him to press into her, gave him leverage to get one thigh wedged in between her long legs to rock against her starting up that old ancient friction that begged for completion.

But he needed more.

"Bedroom," he panted in her ear even as he lifted her up, wrapping those slender thighs around his hips, making his way down the hall between breathless kisses. Her door was ajar and he shoved them inside and sprawled them out on the bed loath to surrender his place between her thighs to finish getting her naked. But it wasn't up to him. Whatever shyness she had felt earlier had evaporated and she didn't hesitate to tug on his buttons to get him out of his shirt, attacked his belt, reached inside to wrap strong confident fingers around the length of him shorting him out so bad he almost fell over on top of her from the pleasure of it.

He was never going to last with her warm soft hand gliding and tugging over his cock like that. Looking down, wetting freshly kissed pink lips like maybe she might take him into her pretty perfect mouth. That was one fantasy he didn't think he'd survive. Not now, first her. Then it wouldn't matter if he popped off quick, as long as she was already sated. He shimmied the rest of his way out of his trousers and toed off his shoes unable to stop himself from thrusting into her touch, drinking in the sight of her thighs spread open to make room for him draped in a dress that was almost falling off her shoulders.

He wished he had thought to bring a camera.

No matter, now was not the time to stop and admire. Now was the time to touch and taste and please. He tugged on the fabric of her dress, rocking her arse back and forth to get it out from underneath her and forcing her to let go of his hard weeping length to lift her hands for him to pull the dress over head leaving her lovely curves only covered in scraps of blue satin. He pushed in closer between her thighs, pushing his naked cock up against her panties, shuddering uncontrollably when confronted by wet silk and rocking back and forth smearing the wetness of her desire up and down his length while he captured her lips with his, plunging his tongue inside, mimicking the thrusting motion of his hips.

Her bra was discarded as quickly as his shaking hands could manage and after just a few seconds of tugging her hard nipples he was pushing her back so he could lick and suck and bite at them instead. He probably ought to slow down, touch her more gently, kiss her more sweetly. But her thighs were splayed wide open, hips thrusting back at him, pressing her tits more firmly into his face and he just couldn't help but take what he wanted from her. Any resistance and he would have pulled back, but each gentle nip, firm squeeze, sucking kiss had low breathy sounds of desire coming from her lips.

He'd make it up to her. He'd spend all day and night making love. He'd rub her and kiss her and massage her pretty feet and wash her silky hair. He would. He'd take his time. Later. Now, now he had to peel her panties off of her and pull her arse to the foot of the bed so he could get a taste of that sweet honey pot. Kiss her pretty pussy lips as thoroughly as he had her mouth. Lick and suck and learn her like a fine instrument. Wet and slippery before he ever applied his tongue and easy to read. Rocking hips and shaking legs let him know when he hit the right spot and he let her set the pace to get her there. Two twisting fingers did the trick, flooding wetness on his tongue and chin, shuddering while he licked her through it.

He expected her to take a minute, recover, but before he even had a chance to wipe his face on the bedsheet she was pulling him up on the bed, pushing him into the mattress, climbing astride him. He might have gone slow, worked his way in, given her a moment to adjust, but she slid him inside with one deep thrust and he was never one to deny a lady what she so clearly needed.

So he wrapped his hands around her hips for leverage and pushed up into her warm wet heat and kept up with the pounding pace she set, pulling her down hard on his cock, shoving it as deep and firm as she wanted with each thrust. He wasn't going to last but a few minutes so he pressed one firm finger over her glistening wet clit in a firm circle to help her get there. Her body bowed and shook, muscles clamping down in spasms over his cock, he thrust one, two, three more times before she relaxed over him, kissing him deep and sweet and that set him over the edge more than anything else and he lost all control, clutching her close, ramming out his pleasure with reckless strokes until she milked the last bit of juice from him and lay against him trembling and sated.


End file.
